Welcome to where I am, where my kitchen's always messy, a pot's (or a poet) always about to boil over, a dog is always begging to be fed. Drafts of poems on the counter. Windows filled with leaves. Wind. Clouds moving over the mountains. If you like poetry, books, and music--especially dog howls when a siren unwinds down the hill-- you'll like it here.

MY NEW AUTHOR'S SITE, KATHRYNSTRIPLINGBYER.COM, THAT I MYSELF SET UP THROUGH WEEBLY.COM, IS NOW UP. I HAD FUN CREATING THIS SITE AND WOULD RECOMMEND WEEBLY.COM TO ANYONE INTERESTED IN SETTING UP A WEBSITE. I INVITE YOU TO VISIT MY NEW SITE TO KEEP UP WITH EVENTS RELATED TO MY NEW BOOK.

MY NC POET LAUREATE BLOG, MY LAUREATE'S LASSO, WILL REMAIN UP AS AN ARCHIVE OF NC POETS, GRADES K-INFINITY! I INVITE YOU TO VISIT WHEN YOU FEEL THE NEED TO READ SOME GOOD POEMS.

VISIT MY NEW BLOG, MOUNTAIN WOMAN, WHERE YOU WILL FIND UPDATES ON WHAT'S HAPPENING IN MY KITCHEN, IN THE ENVIRONMENT, IN MY IMAGINATION, IN MY GARDEN, AND AMONG MY MOUNTAIN WOMEN FRIENDS.

Suz, the key, yes you are right. Don't ask, just sit under the tree, sip wine, love the time you are in..Kat, I love the single thread of life we're attached to even if it seems we're not. Invisible, so often. Thank you for visiting! Jessie, those eggs were amazing. I wondered at the time they spent doing such delicate, precise work. Helen, thank you for like the poem. I began it while walking to the p.O. Friday.

Joany, the temptation is always there, to think the day ordinary. I walked out at twilight last night and just buried my face in the daffodils, wishing I could make the moment last. Joan and Dana, thank you. The Episcopalian service is so much more poetic than the Presbyterian I grew up hearing, but I always had the KJV to fall back on! Brian, I began this poem thinking about how much I disliked hard-boiled eggs as a kid. I always wanted big chocolate eggs. And that led me to the eggshell image. (Now I love hard-boiled eggs.) Queen Mother, that gorgeous egg of Willow's really got something going didn't it. I hope you have a lovely April.

"The earth we ride"as Janisse Ray writes"feet firmly planted,side by side";such serendipity to find this poem and prompt while your middle name has the echos of this poem/song I collaborated on in my head too.Hope you don't mind the length,it actually is much longer and Joanne makes it a beautiful song.Jordan and Joanne Rand with Peter Peteet

It is a lawfrom long agothat sturdy legs must leave the cribthat readied beaks must break the smallvast wall of white silenceand prod the cowlicked wingsuntil they fly.It is an oaththat mighty muscled babies reciteto flattering mirrors in the wee forelightthat they will meet the sweltering noonwith a chiseled jaw of firm delightenjoying the pains of manhood.Oh, how I’d liketo forever be--if I were possibly able—a dangle of lank on the whole world’s kneea stripling in the cradle.But all the simple yolk is goneand I will starve if I don’t go on.To claim the pains of manhoodPut on the chains of manhoodI WANT TO FLY; I WANT TO CRYI AM POUNDING AT THE GREAT WHITE DARKNESS & CANNOT SEE THE SKY

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About Me

I've lived in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina since 1968, though I'm a native of SW Georgia. My paternal grandmother was born in the Blue Ridge, and I grew up wanting to live here. Where I am.
I've published five collections of poetry, the most recent 4 being with LSU Press, and have published poetry in magazines ranging from The Atlantic Monthly to Appalachian Heritage. But I also hike, bang pots and pans around in my kitchen, and love several dogs who leave fur all over my carpets. I write poetry because it's my way of singing back to the world both within and without.